


Parkas, Inc.

by trillingstar



Series: Hardtime100 [30]
Category: Oz (TV)
Genre: Affectionate Insults, Blizzards & Snowstorms, Community: hardtime100, Ficlet, Flash Fic, Gen, Humor, Snow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:00:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25012798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trillingstar/pseuds/trillingstar
Summary: A blizzard is messing with Oz's supply chains; McManus has ideas!
Series: Hardtime100 [30]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/3924
Kudos: 3





	Parkas, Inc.

**Author's Note:**

> Flashfiction Challenge #81: Cold Snap; Staff-centric, Ensemble.  
> Word count: ~1k.  
> 

_"More than a quarter of a million people have been left without power after the first wave of storms swept across the northern part of the state, with some locations receiving up to fifteen inches of snow accompanied by punishing winds, sleet, and freezing rain._

_Meteorologists are predicting an additional twenty to twenty-two inches of fresh powder to fall between now and Wednesday morning. The Governor has declared a state of emergency and is requesting assistance from the National Guard..."_

"Well, shit," Tim said, turning off the radio. He surveyed the room. Everyone looked tired; they'd been running on a skeleton crew for the past four days, and the latest weather report confirmed that no one would be leaving or arriving at Oz anytime soon.

Tim pointed at Mineo. "Generators okay?"

Mineo cleared his throat. "Uh, yeah. They got enough juice for another couple of weeks at least."

"Good to know the clowns can't leave the circus," Hurst piped up, and the other COs chuckled.

"So's we got electricity but no heat," Mineo continued, "and I ain't gonna say we shouldn't feed 'em, but we were due a shipment, what, a couple days back, Brese?"

Brese nodded, rubbing one hand down his scruffy chin. "Yep, there's plenty of canned crap in there, but pantry's near out of fruit, powdered eggs 'n' milk, that stuff. And part of that order was water jugs."

Tim raised one eyebrow. "We're out of water? What about the commissary?"

"All out," Brese confirmed.

"Infirmary?" Tim addressed Dr. Nathan.

"All out," she parroted.

"Double shit," Tim said, and then the walkie-talkie near his elbow crackled to life.

*

"Tim, why are we in a storage closet?" Sean spoke through the scarf wrapped around his face.

"Nuh-unh, we need one more," Tim replied, scouting the hallway.

Gloria unzipped her parka, raising her chin. "I'd like to know the answer to that, too."

Tim sounded distracted. "We're, uh, huddling for warmth."

"I have patients, you know," Gloria said.

"Then give me some of that patience now," Tim said, pleading.

"Ugh," Gloria replied. She exchanged a put-upon look with Sean.

"Ah hah!" Tim stepped into the hallway, snatched up a small mountain of poofy black sateen, whirled back, and slammed the door.

"What the –" The mountain writhed and then pushed itself out of Tim's grip. "What on earth!"

"Hiya, Sister," Sean said, stuffing his hands in his jacket pockets and rocking back on his heels. "Welcome to the winter of Tim's discontent."

*

"You're crazy," Pete said. "And I'm qualified to diagnose that sort of thing."

Tim rolled his eyes. "Come on, this is a great idea."

"You know what else have been great ideas, Timmy?" Sean ticked items off on his fingers. "Birthday pinata that sparked a riot over Sour Patch Kids. Bowling party. Cyril O'Reily knocked out five people with that bowling ball stuck on his fingers. The Thanksgiving spread in the caf, when the cranberry sauce got just a little too real --"

"Oh, don't forget the time you bribed Poet into teaching poetry," Pete said. "And everyone wrote profanity on the walls in permanent marker."

"I thought it was washable ink!" Tim protested. He flashed a smile at Gloria. "Thank you for not chiming in."

"I was finding it difficult to speak," Gloria said, grimacing. "Traumatic flashback to the time you ordered new beds for the infirmary that all had casters on the legs and couldn't be bolted down. Because they were 'on sale.'" She mimed quotation marks. "I'm also remembering how angry I was with you."

"That stuff's all in the past," Tim said, waving his hand in a dismissive gesture. "Besides, we have to get out there. Our very lives may depend on it."

"Your full commitment to this leave of absence from your right mind's left me numb," Sean said.

Tim raised an eyebrow. "Numb enough to go along?"

Silence.

"Have some faith! I am completely capable of controlling the whereabouts of twenty max-sec inmates outside, god," Tim wheedled. "Where would they even go?"

Gloria tilted her head to the side. Her voice sounded muffled from behind the collar of her parka. "How long have you been working at Oz, again?"

"Oh come on," Tim answered. "There isn't a bus stop for miles. The buses aren't even running!"

"Okay, it's your funeral," Sean heaved a long-suffering sigh. "And if anything goes wrong..."

"You'll have to get in line," Sister Pete interrupted. "I'll tell Glynn that I was coerced."

"The day anyone _coerces_ you, Pete," Gloria said.

"I said I'll tell him that," Sister Pete replied smartly. "Though it won't be too far from the truth."

*

Tim watched with an air of detachment as some of the pod doors slid open, letting their inhabitants wander out into the quad. The inmates whose doors hadn't opened banged on the glass, mouths open and wearing expressions of outrage. It was surprising they still had so much energy after nearly a week of chilly lockdown.

One of Tim's best ideas had been soundproofing the pods when they rebuilt Em City after the gas explosion. He was certainly reaping the benefits of that decision today.

The COs spread out, flanking the crowd.

"Everyone! Gather around, everyone. I need your attention!" Tim yelled.

"Yeah you do," someone replied. Others laughed. Eventually the room quieted.

Tim plowed on. "I need volunteers for a new project. You must be able to lift at least sixty pounds, you must have at least five years left on your stretch, and you, uh, have to be able to fit into one of these coats."

He waved at a pile of jackets and other outerwear culled from the Lost & Found.

"They're all freshly washed. There's scarves and gloves, and even a pullover fleece or two!"

The quad was silent as a mouse fart. The only movement was from the men still in their pods, staring hard at those bunched around the TV area.

"Let's go, come on, start the line here," Tim said briskly, pointing at random men. "First one to bundle up gets, um, a shower."

Sean threw Tim an odd look.

Tim rubbed his palms over his eyes. "You'll get to go outside."

Cue near-riot #2, this time over what was, in Tim's opinion, the best-looking hat of the bunch, beige sheep's wool with red ear flaps and a pom-pom on top.  


**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [on LJ](https://hardtime100.livejournal.com/518545.html).  
>   
> End Notes: HAH, I realized there's no explicit plan stated! Basically, Tim wanted inmates to form a carry-handover line, to collect snow and melt it down for water. Here's everything I couldn't stuff in: various groups of staff and inmates scurried around for anything that could hold water, and figured out how to store/boil it all, etc. There were ~jokes made by inmates about fresh, pure snowfall and Aryans. Busmalis constructed an intricate maze of tunnels, obviously. Cyril O'Reily made about fifty snow angels in a row, simply rolling out of each and into the next patch of snow. Beecher and Keller exchanged spit and groped each other in a snow house, obviously. There was even a monumental snowball fight, ending with a single fading withdrawal shot of a winter hat lying forgotten on the snow, the pom-pom stuttering in the wind. *bows*  
>   
> 


End file.
